


Dominant Intent

by pokey_jr



Series: Only Sequences Change [5]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Choking, Connor finds a creative use for his tie, F/M, Light Bondage, Penis In Vagina Sex, blowjob, dom!connor, well more like android accessory appendage component in vagina sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 23:32:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15448293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokey_jr/pseuds/pokey_jr
Summary: Is he going to say it?Oh pleaseyou pray to whatever being you think might be listening. You’d told him at the bar, while shamelessly flirting with him, that it would be amazing to hear him say it. He’d repeated it after you at the time, to your amusement and delight. But it had been in his innocent ‘what’s the big deal’ voice, complete with head tilt.He regards you imperiously now. “Suck my dick… well, it’s not a….’dick’, per say. It’s what CyberLife refers to as an accessory appendage component. Mine is—“**Connor doesn't have a Dom bone in his body, but ask nice and he'll try his best.





	Dominant Intent

This is not the way you expected intimacy with Connor to go. At least not the first time.

You’re nervous, which he wasted no time pointing out a minute after you answered the door to let him into your apartment.  
The encounter itself wouldn’t even be happening, were it not for one very late, very inebriated night, where you had divulged your fantasy of wanting him to dominate you. Which led to many, many questions, all in his pleasantly straightforward ‘I’m here to learn’ tone. Except you’d been telling him about rope bondage, and how you wanted him to grab your hair, and _no, Connor, you’ve confused doggy style with something else._

And then, you had told him, with perhaps too much of a challenge in your voice, that you didn’t actually think he could do it. Against his programming, or whatever.

He’d only adjusted his tie. He wouldn’t rise to the bait. What does an android have to prove? No ego to protect.

Now he steps past the threshold, giving you a small smile before remembering himself, and adjusting his shirtsleeves. “Good evening, Detective.”

“Hi Connor.” First test. You reach to grab his tie, pull him towards you, because you want to see what he’ll do if you kiss him, but he catches your wrist. Your body hums with anticipation.

“While I’m here, you’ll address me as ‘sir’.” He pauses then reminds you, sounding much more like himself, “that’s what you wanted.”

You nod, he releases your wrist.

No surprise, he hasn’t forgotten any of that conversation, but you wonder how much effort it will take him to override his innate politeness.

And even though he’d said it himself—he’s made to follow a directive, not give orders—he gives you one. “Undress.”

You do, but take your time about it. You’d much rather see him undress, though he hardly has to do anything more than adjust his tie to send your mind spinning off to indecent fantasies.

At last, you drop your panties on the floor and look at him expectantly.

The corner of his mouth quirks in that almost-smile, which always makes your heart flutter. “For someone who wants to be dominated, you’re not very good at obeying instructions.”

“Well you—“

He cuts you off. “I didn’t say you could speak.”

_Well, well. Point- Connor._ You’re not sure if he has any idea how to really make you suffer but hey. Maybe he can actually do this. Maybe if you surrender he’ll surprise you.

He steps closer, removes his tie clip, slips it in his back pocket, same as he would with a quarter. You swallow thickly. You’ve never seen him so much as take off his jacket and oh god he’s unknotting his tie now. The sight of his hands working at it strikes a spark of need in you, bright and hot and you resist reaching for him.

“Turn around,” he commands, and you obey. You hear the sound of the silk being pulled from under his collar.

Then he takes your wrists-- “tell me if it’s too tight”—and binds them. You feel him press against you, cleaving his body to yours, the coarse fabric of his jeans against your bare ass, and through that, the hard line of his cock. When he speaks, his voice is hot and low against your neck.

“You know I can always sense when you’re in a heightened state of sexual arousal.”

Yeah, you’d kinda figured that.

“But this…” he traces a hand down your body, runs his fingers through your wet slit.

The boldness of it shocks you; you moan, trying to lift to his touch, but he withdraws his hand just as quickly, turns you around and holds your gaze as he tastes it. “Is this why you seek my attention so relentlessly, Detective? You taste… desperate. Like a bitch in heat. Is there some sort of mating season for humans I don’t know about?”

Humiliation. That was another aspect you’d tried to explain to him during that drunken ramble, wondering if the concept would translate for androids. Your face burns, embarrassment and arousal conflating to a singular pulse of desire that knifes through you.  
Connor doesn’t miss it. Nothing escapes his notice, and he smirks at you, as if daring you to beg.

You won’t do it. Not yet.

He goes to the couch, shrugging out of his jacket before he sits, and then beckons you.

You kneel in front of him, settling between his legs. He watches you intently as he undoes his shirt button by button. Doesn’t take it off, just leaves it hanging open, goes for his jeans next. The belt, button, then fly. 

You lean forward eagerly, eyeing the promising bulge. Finally, _finally_ , you’ve been wondering for so long; he lifts his hips slightly, and pulls out his cock. Balls too, and you bite your lip because all of it is just as perfect as the rest of him. 

Is he going to say it? _Oh please_ you pray to whatever being you think might be listening. You’d told him at the bar, while shamelessly flirting with him, that it would be amazing to hear him say it. He’d repeated it after you at the time, to your amusement and delight. But it had been in his innocent ‘what’s the big deal’ voice, complete with head tilt.

He regards you imperiously now. “Suck my dick… well, it’s not a….’dick’, per say. It’s what CyberLife refers to as an accessory appendage component. Mine is—“

You cut him off by taking him in your mouth. Almost all the way down, the head of his cock touches the back of your throat, you swallow around it and he gives a delicious moan, somewhere between surprise and need. His hand comes to tangle in your hair, guide you. Gentler than you might want, but then he pushes all the way into your mouth and holds you there.

“Do that again.” His voice is hoarse. “That felt good, do it… swallow again.”

You hear the unspoken _please_ and who are you to deny him? His balls press against your chin and he thrusts shallowly, slowly, his breath hitching and he only stops when he hears you gag.

“Are you going to choke? Already? Just from this?” There’s a note of amusement there, and genuine curiosity. “But… you like it.” He starts moving again, deeper, and measured, and notes, calmly, that your level of arousal is higher than usual.

That he can tell your core temperature is elevated, your heart rate is 150 bpm, and if you’d hoped to engage in penetrative intercourse, you’d better stand up, because his sensory receptors are--

“ _oh_ …” his hips buck and he forces himself to ease his vice grip on your hair. You release his hard cock, a slender string of your drool hanging between the plush head and your lips.

You get to your feet awkwardly, Connor helping steady you since your hands are tied. His cock is red and veiny, lying thick and heavy up against his stomach.

He doesn’t object when you straddle him, knows enough, despite his inexperience, to take his length in hand and align it with your pussy. His lips part in a quiet gasp as you sink down onto him, feeling every fat inch slowly split you open.

“Connor, ohhh fuck…” He’s tried, bless him, he really has, but the balance has shifted.

He looks like the sort of person who’s never been in a fight before. But you know, of course, that he has. You’ve seen the cold efficiency with which he moves, calculating trajectories and making decisions in anticipation of actions his opponents won’t take for another few seconds. He fights like others play chess.

You’ve rarely seen him walk away disheveled, and even rarer witnessed him lose his composure. But his normally neat, smooth hair is mussed. If your hands weren’t tied you’d play with that little curl that always falls to the left. “Connor...” you plead again, trying to coax him, you roll your hips, taking more of him, a little deeper, until at last, your ass rests on his thighs. 

“Tell me—“ he breaks off again with a gasp, “tell me what you need. Continuing at this pace, you will achieve orgasm within 432.5 seconds.”

Friction. You rise on your knees, then back down, start to fuck yourself on his cock. “Choke me, shit, I-- I told you what I wanted. Fuck me harder and choke me.”

He puts his hand around your throat, hesitantly, yes, but he does it, watching you with neutral curiosity. It serves to remind you: he is a machine. A deviant, yes, and your partner, but a machine. He is stronger and faster and smarter and he is in control.

Ostensibly.

His cheeks are tinged pink, and briefly you wonder why—why wouldn’t they be blue—but then he puts his other hand on your hip, his fingers squeezing there, and at your neck, harder. Harder. Gauging how much you can take.

You whine, breath ebbing and giving way to insistent pulsing desire, and he gets it. Finally. Starts moving with you, thrusting up and pulling you down onto his cock at the same time. Tightens his grip, fingers digging into your skin. You want him to leave bruises, want him to see how good he can make you feel, even if he doesn’t understand it.

You ride him, rocking against him with your back arched, tits bouncing in his face. He watches, fascinated, as you begin to unravel under his touch. Fills you over and over, fucking you open, and when he senses you start to panic for air, lets go of your neck.

“ _Fuck, Connor_ — I’m…” You clench around him, you’re so close, won’t let him slow down now. At your demand, he presses his thumb to the sensitive bundle of nerves. Circles your clit fast and tight, pulls you against him so you bury your face against his shoulder and he smells like freshly cleaned laundry and new car interior and oh _god_ —

He’s kissing your neck, reverted to his gentle self but you don’t care, you’re cumming anyway. A bright wash of pleasure courses through you, makes you tremble, spasm around his thick erection. Connor chokes out a moan, a sound of pure lust, or perhaps sensory input overload, as if surprised what his systems are capable of.

Murmuring against your skin as he clings to you, like he can’t get you close enough— _you feel so good, so good_ \-- his hips lift and he presses deep into you, to the hilt, stills there, moves once more, pumping slower, languid and slick.

You slump against him, breathing hard, and feeling the artificial rise and fall of his chest underneath you. He undoes his tie from your wrists before lifting you off of him, and picks you up princess style to carry to the bathroom. At last, after drawing a hot bath and helping you in, he asks, “are you alright?”

“Mhmm.”

“I detected only mild contusions on your wrists.” He pauses. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

You laugh. “No, Connor. Although I wish you had let me lick your balls.”

His eyebrows rise in mild alarm. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Uh… I don’t know? What’s the big deal, why does that freak you out?”

“Lieutenant Anderson yells ‘suck my hairy balls asshole’ at other motorists when he feels they’ve slighted him or violated traffic laws. I assumed it was an expression of anger and disrespect.” He sits back, thoughtful, his LED spinning to yellow. “There was something else you mentioned that night, something I wasn’t sure of the best way to approach it.”

“I mentioned a lot of things.” More than you should have. You’re worried you may have traumatized him.

“Yes, but one in particular you seemed to be very enthusiastic about. I think I remember you rubbing up against my arm and saying you want me to--” he tilts his head, searching for the phrase you’d used, and when he finds it, his mouth quirks in a knowing smile. “--fuck your ass. I am happy to oblige, Detective, but as anal sex is not part of my base protocols, I’d appreciate your guidance.”


End file.
